


The Devil Went Down To Georgia

by litra



Series: amplificathon 2014 [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Kevin, Community: pt-lightning, Cursed Object, Gen, PT-Lightning Challenge: Round 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:04:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1393813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/litra/pseuds/litra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean come across a cursed Violin that’s causing musicians to commit suicide. <br/>Set in the early days of season 9.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil Went Down To Georgia

Sam and Dean flashed their badges at the nursing student who manned the front desk of the Jackson county morgue. She was young and her ponytail was bouncing back and forth as she nodded and smiled and generally fell over herself to answer Dean’s questions. She probably would have let them in without the badges, but Dean was playing the ‘We wouldn’t want to get you in trouble’ card, since they had sown up at the tail end of the shift and the primary mortician had already gone home.

She didn’t need to know that they’d purposefully waited until he was gone before swooping in. As the only morgue for the whole of the Rogue Valley, the doctor was likely to have that odd mix of small town morels and authority figure certainty that went hand in hand with thinking inside the box.

“Thank you so much miss,” Dean checked the girl’s name tag. “Wells.”

“Oh, it’s just Amy.” Dimples, a lot of blinking, another nod of the head that made her ponytail start pinwheeling. Sam tried to block out the constant buzz of motion from her side of the table, and looked down at the file she had passed over. 

They’d arrived the night before, on the trail of what the local papers were calling suicides. It had only taken a couple hours on the computer to see the pattern. Eleven deaths over the past three years, all clustered around either the holidays or late May, early June, and all connected to the Southern Oregon University Music and Theatre department. 

Their latest victim, Samantha Moore,  was a senior who had been looking at a guaranteed spot in the LA symphonic orchestra after she graduated. According to the schools records she had reserved one of the private practice rooms in the music hall around noon on a saturday, other students reported seeing and hearing her playing late into the night. no one noticed anything on Sunday, and her body had been found Monday morning by a sophomore who had promptly had a breakdown. 

The papers had been light on the details, casting it as a tragedy, and blaming the stress of finals and a bunch of other BS.

“What happened to her was so sad. I go to the college too. not that i knew her or anything, different departments, but you hear things, and with the memorial on Friday, it’s all anyone is talking about. It’s right this way.”

“What kind of things?” Dean asked.

“Well you know theatre people, always overdramatic, but the rumor is that she played her fingers off. people heard her practicing on Saturday in one of the private rooms, and then that sophmore found her dead on Monday. They’re saying it was really bloody.” Amy unlocked one of the exam rooms and led them inside. “She should be in number three. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Dean smiled at her and shok his head, saying all the appropriate things to get her out of the room. Sam moved over to the wall of refrigerators and opened number three.

The rumors hadn’t been far off. The girl’s hands were bloody, cut down to the bone in places and her wrists were a mass of bruises all down her forearms. There was bruising along her jawline where she’d held her instrument. the chart said the official cause of death was a brain aneurysm, caused by a chemical imbalance.

“So, ghost?”

Sam did a sweep for EMF. “No dice.”

“Damn, what then? Witches? Fuckig hate witches. What about demons? any sulfur?”

Sam shook his head. “We can check the scene, but there weren’t any omens. anything on her chart?”

Dean looked over it hopefully but after a moment his face fell. “Nothing.”

“It could still be a ghost.”

Dean grumbled something and Sam rolled his eyes. “Well, whatever this is, it’ll kill again if it follows the pattern from previous years.”

“Yeah yeah, research time, I hear ya. With our luck, bet you ten bucks it’s a witch.”

Sam only agreed because he knew it was the fastest way to get his brother to stop complaining. “You’re on. You want the memorial then, or the crime scene.”

Dean twisted his face up for a moment then shrugged. “Crime scene.” Dean shoved the victim back into the freezer and headed for the door, already reaching for his tie. “Let’s get out of here, I need a drink.”

  
  


***

 

On friday evening Sam returned to their hotel room after the memorial to find Dean already back. he was sprawled out on his bed. he had a pizza box laid out beside him, and Sam snagged a slice as he passed. Dean made a move to stop him but it was only half hearted so Sam knew he didn’t really mind.

“You find anything?”

Sam pulled off the tie of his agent costume and shook his head. “Nothing. Everyone loved her, she was passionate about her music but not obsessive. She got good grades but wasn’t a study freak. Her boyfriend said she’d been practicing for the senior performances a lot. he said something about her violin breaking and that she complained out using a spare, but that was normal with finals coming up. No enemies, no crazy exs, and apparently she gave up the lead seat because of some prior obligation so it looks like we can rule out jelacy as a motive.” Sam rolled his shoulders, and took a bite of his pizza. “Any luck on your end?” 

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. No EMF, no hex bags, no sulfur. And the place was sealed up, no one in or out but Campus security.  And that girl was right, it was bloody, No one had been in their to cover their tracks.” 

They ate in silence for a minute. Sam finished his slice and dodged Dean to grab a second. “Guess that means research. we can dig into the other victims, see if any patterns pop up.”

Dean dropped the crust on his last slice back into the box. He was wearing the face he always got when a case didn’t turn in the direction he wanted it to. They had come in expecting a standard salt and burn. They’d been at this long enough that nine times out of ten they could easily tell what they were dealing with. They were possibly the most experienced hunters on the planet, they’d run into pretty much everything at one time or another. This should have been by the book. 

Plus Dean hated libraries. 

Sam had pointed out that the bunker practically was a library, and if he could live in one he could stand a few hours between the shelves. Dean had retaliated by saying there was no ban on food and beer in the bunker and Sam had rolled his eyes and made bitchface number four.

“Fine if you don’t want to help you can interview her advisor. I didn’t get to talk to him at the service.” 

Dean nodded, grumbled something about the case following the rules and picked up the remote.

  
  


***

 

Dean knocked on the frame to professor Robbins office. According to school files he had been Samantha Moors’ advisor.  The professor was leaning back in his chair, Earbuds firmly in place and a look of concentration on his face. After a moment he paused whatever was playing, made a few notes on a spare pad of paper and made as if to sit back again. Dean caught his eye.

“Office hours are on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” Robbins said slightly louder than necessary. 

Dean smiled and pulled out his badge, flipping it open without saying anything. The teacher blinked slightly then pulled out his headphones and stood up.

“My name is Agent Stark. I’d like to ask you a few questions about Samantha Moore.” Dean said.

“Oh, yes of course.” The professor shuffled around clearing off a chair and dumping  papers on his already cluttered desk. “Please sit.”

Dean took out a notepad and started in on the standard questions. “When was the last time you spoke to her before the incident?”

Robbins paused to consider, then rolled one shoulder. “A few days before she was found. The Saturday I think, Yes. She said one of the pegs on her violin had broken and I checked her out one of the spares and let her into the practice rooms. It was back in place when I checked on Monday but whoever had checked it back in had forgotten to sign off on it.”

“Is that unusual?”

    “Well, it’s not unheard of but only the other instructors and a few TAs have access to those instruments. If things aren’t signed in then they can’t be checked out again.”

“Those instruments worth anything?”

“None of them are worth much, and any student in the department can check them out when needed so there’s no reason to break in, but it would be a hassle to replace them, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Dean paused, tapping his pen against his pad of paper. He couldn’t tell if it would lead anywhere but something about all this didn’t fit. “I’m going to need a list of who has access to those instruments and I’m going to need to see the one she checked out.” the teacher blinked several times in surprise. Dean just smiled. “Possible evidence.”

“Well, you’d need to ask the head of the department for the list, but the fiddle should still be in the storage room, unless it’s been checked out already.”

“Great, let’s go get it.” Dean stood up, stuffing his notes into a pocket and grabbing his phone. He typed out a quick text for Sam to meet up with him, then gestured for Robbins to get a move on when he saw the man hadn’t shifted from where he sat. The Professor finally stood, fumbling for his keys for a few minutes before finally finding them and leading the way down the hall.

Dean tried not to look impatent as he was lead through the building, passing half a dozen classrooms and music rooms and recital halls. Songs drifted out of some, talk from others until they descended a flight of stairs and stopped at a door that appeared to be a janitor’s closet at first glance. Robbins fumbled with his keys, pressing a grey piece of plastic to a black security pad beside the door.

Dean’s cell phone beeped. He missed it when Robbins opened the door because he was sending Sam the room number. With the security off, Robbins picked up a clipboard and flipped through the top few sheets, letting a laptop on a small desk just inside the door boot up. 

From what Dean could see from the hall, the room probably had been a janitors closet in a previous life. It was maybe six paces long and half that wide, with shelving covering every inch of wall space. The shelves held dozens of instrument cases, of different shapes and sizes. All of the cases were battered, with scuffing on the edges and labeled in big white numbers.

Robbins checked the clipboard, then crosschecked the computer and turned to the shelves, muttering numbers under his breath. “It should be here somewhere. It hasn’t been checked out in the last week, at least not according to the records.” It took a few minutes but eventually he found the right case and brought it over the Dean, cross checking the numbers as he did. 

Dean opened the case and knew he’d hit paydirt. the instrument was old, made of a light colored wood that had been polished until it glowed a healthy gold. whoever had made the instrument had etched symbols into the neck and down the sides in a dark ink that had faded to a deep blue over the years. The pegs were worn but held true when Dean ran a thumb over the strings. It was still in tune, though if Samantha had been using it only a week ago then that was to be expected. The bow was made of the same light wood and had been kept in the same good condition. It had an almost festive air if you didn’t know what to look for. Given, Dean didn’t actually know what the inscriptions read, but he knew enough to recognise enochian when he saw it. Not exactly what he had expected but definitely enough for a mental high five.

“That does not belong here.”

Dean spun around, nearly jumping out of his skin at the sight of Sam. No, not Sam, Ezekiel. He had that stiff way of standing that was very much not Sam. Dean had been living with the reality of angels now for years but he would never get used to one of them possessing his brother.

Dean bit back a curse, then had to bite back telling him off because the civilian was right there. “Don’t sneak up on people like that.” Was what he finally settled on.

Zeik let his head fall to one side. “You texted Sam.”

Dean rolled his eyes. Angels. “So this is what we’re looking for then?” Dean was already sure of it but a confirmation never hurt.

Zeik nodded. “If she tried to play this instrument, and she was not worthy of it…” He let the sentence trail off but Dean got the idea. 

He turned to Robbins, who was still standing in the doorway to the storage room blinking at them. “We’re going to have to take this.” Dean informed him, then turned and started walking before the professor could put together a protest. Dean was feeling good. This case might have started out crappy but everything had wrapped up nicely and no one else had had to die for them to figure it out. He let himself hum along to an acoustic version of Aerosmith’s Dream On that was drifting through the halls as they left the building.

Sam came back to himself as they crossed Campus.

“Dean?”

“Case Closed Sammy.” He held up the Violin’s case. Sam gave him a questioning look so he elaborated. “I was talking to the girl’s advisor and he said she’d checked out a violin, but I didn’t remember one at the scene, so I figure maybe someone messed with it, maybe cursed object. I get him to show me and check this out.” he held up the case and opened it. “See that?” he pointed at several of the symbols he recognised curving around the body of the fiddle.

“Enochian?”

Dean nodded and closed the case. “This thing was just sitting around waiting to get checked out by anyone. What do you want to bet that those other deaths checked it out too?”

“Huh, yeah I guess that would explain the connection to the music department.” Sam still seemed uncertain so Dean barreled on.

“We stop off back at the bunker, seal this thing up and be back hunting for Cas in no time.” It had the desired effect. 

 

***

 

Dean bobbed his head to his music all the way back to the bunker, rocking out to everything from the Rolling Stones to Aerosmith, to AC/DC. Sam didn’t even protest he just watched Dean with an odd little look for a while then wadded up his jacket and went to sleep against the door.

They got in late and Sam mumbled something about heading for bed around a yawn. Dean hadn’t had the benefit of a nap so he just waved after him. He took a minute to toss his keys and jacket on the big table so Kevin would know they were back, set the violin case next to the scimitar for archival when he was less dead on his feet, and headed for his room. He flopped onto his bed and was asleep as soon as he had kicked off his boots.

He woke up hours later to an instrumental version of stairway to heaven, but for the life of him he couldn’t find his phone to turn off the alarm. Dean stumbled into the kitchen with the song stuck in his head. He grunted at Kevin who had apparently just put on coffee, and if anyone ever doubted Kevin’s smarts Dean would set them right because at that moment he was sure the kid was a certified genius. 

Dean slowly woke up. Kevin put on music in the main room, but it was decent stuff so at he wasn’t going to complain. He sipped his coffee, found they weren’t out of bacon, slapped a few slices into a pan and put a bagel in the toaster. By the time Sam wandered in for his turn at the coffee pot Dean was making a mental list of books he’d need to reference to seal up the angelic death fiddle.

They all settled in. At some point Sam had decided to archive everything in the bunker, he drifted in and out of the main room, checking records and looking through boxes, occasionally sitting down to tap on his laptop for a while.  Kevin was going over the tablets again, writing down all the different incantations and archiving them with the rest of the Men of Letters spells. Dean settled in with the first book in his stack, propped his feet up on the table and worked his way through a second cup of coffee.

“You know you could just play the song if it’s stuck in your head.” Kevin said halfway through the morning.

Dean looked up, “What?”

“The humming. I mean, normally you just put your music on. Don’t get me wrong I’m grateful for the reprieve but at least I know the CDs will stay in tune.”

Dean almost felt like he should be insulted, except he hadn’t been humming. Kevin’d been the one to put the music on.

“He’s right man.” Sam said from the other end of the table. He was packing a set on incan statues back up after confirming they were indeed magnetically charged just like the notes said. “Just play the song, get it out of your head.” he put the lid on his box. “You want me to take that down to storage?” Sam nodded at the violin case. 

Dean blinked down at his hand resting on the open violin case. He didn’t remember bringing it over, and he certainly didn’t remember opening it. He’d been in the zone, researching, had he maybe needed to reference the symbols? His hand drifted over to slide down the strings.

“Fuck.”

“Dean?”

“I think I’ve been whammied.”

“Whammied?” Kevin asked. Clearly he wasn’t getting how serious this was.

Dean paused then pointed in the general direction of the ceiling. “There any music playing right now?” Sam’s expression said no. “And last night in the car?”

“Radio off the whole way.”

Dean muttered another “fuck.” under his breath. 

Sam ran a hand over his face and then back through his hair. “Again? Did you touch it? You touched it didn’t you. After the Rabbit's foot, and the ballet slippers? Dean.”

“Ballet slippers?” And yes, Kevin definitely wasn’t taking this as seriously as he should, because this was definitely not that amusing.

“Okay those were not my fault and anyway how was I supposed to know? This thing’s angelic not cursed.”

Kevin rolled his eyes and his expression had fallen back into something close to a sulk. “You say tomato.”

Sam took a breath. “Okay, okay. we’ll figure this out. Just stay away from it for now. I’ll pull all the books on angels and we can start researching. Is it just music? You haven’t noticed anything else?”

Dean considered then shrugged. “Not really. I think it woke me up this morning but otherwise it’s just background. Pretty good music too.” Dean let himself smile. “You know, I actually expected a lot worse.”

Sam and Kevin exchanged a look.

 

It got worse.

 

By the end of the first day Dean could barely concentrate on anything else. The songs started to repeat, and Dean could relate to having Lucifer singing stairway to heaven fifty times in a row, because that was repetition number 72. 

Day two started out about the same, except that after a few hours his fingers had started to twitch. It was like there was a whole orchestra playing the most perfect version of his favorite song ever except they were one instrument short. There were holes in the music, gaps, and lags that needed to be fixed, filled in, and all he had to do was pick up the bow and...  

Sam slammed the lid on the case, nearly catching Dean’s fingers. He gave Dean a pointed look and pulled the case out of his reach. That only lasted about five minutes though because it was still right there and drumming his fingers on the table was clearly driving everyone else a little crazy. 

“Why don’t you go check on Crowley.” Sam suggested in a tense voice, slamming the book he’d been looking through closed.

Dean took the hint. He needed to stretch his legs anyway. The music had switched to an acoustic version of All Along the Watchtower and he couldn’t stop his steps from falling to the beat.

Crowley looked up when Dean pushed the doors to the cell open. “Time for my daily three minutes then?” 

Dean got out the crayon and the scrap of paper. “Names.”

“What not even any witty comeback? You know Sam does strong and silent much better then you Squirrel.”

Dean opened his mouth to tell Crowley where he could shove it but the music switched again and Dean winced.

“Really Dean? Crossroads? I’m touched.”

“Shut up.” Dean muttered. He glared down at Crowley for another moment before storming out of there, pushing the doors shut behind him.

It wasn’t until Dean was cooling his heels in the kitchen five minutes later that he realized the implications. Crowley had heard the song in Dean’s head. He’d never been certain if Crowley was a mind reader or not but in that devils trap it shouldn’t have mattered. His powers should have been on lockdown. 

Dean pondered on that as he grabbed himself a beer and the music switched over to Hotel California. The playlist was getting more erratic, the songs switching a whole lot faster then they had in the beginning.  Dean didn’t exactly have a scale for these things but he was guessing that was bad.

“Crowley knows something.” Dean announced as he reentered the war room. Kevin glanced up, his expression somewhere between sceptical and sullen. 

Sam looked up from his book and settled his elbows the table. “Okay?”

“He could hear the music, or something. He knew what song was playing.”

Sam considered that then pushed himself to his feet. “Well, I don’t have anything better to go on. Let’s go ask him some questions.” Sam started for the door, but when Dean didn’t move, he stopped, looked back. Dean was looking at the case, still sitting on the table. It wasn’t even open and Dean couldn’t take his eyes from it. Sam crossed to his side and reached out to grab Dean’s shoulder. Dean shook his head as his personal soundtrack switched to Paint it Black, and followed Sam down the hall.

They ended up back in Crowley’s cell. Dean with his arms crossed, twitching every time the songs changed. Sam slightly ahead of him, one hand on his belt, the other flat on the table. Kevin had trailed along behind them and slumped against the doorway. 

Crowley looked back and forth between the brothers. “So, when did you find it?” Crowley asked. Sam didn’t answer and Dean hadn’t heard the question so after a pause Crowley went on. “I really shouldn’t be surprised that you two were the ones to dig it up, but it’s not like either of you are musically inclined so I think I can be forgiven a small oversight.”  

Sam gritted his teeth and spoke through a rigid smile. “What do you know about it Crowley?”

“About what? The fiddle? The golden fiddle of the crossroads? It is rather well known. I earned quite a few souls with that number a few decades back, at least until I ran into someone who actually had the talent he thought he did.”

Sam rubbed his eyes briefly. “It’s that fiddle?”

“From what I’m hearing?” Crowley tipped his head to the side and gave Dean a look as Piano Man started up.  “Yes. Definitely mine.”

“If it’s yours then why is it covered in Enochian?” Sam asked as if he was interrogating a witness on the stand. 

Crowley rolled his eyes, and sighed. “Do I have to spell everything out? Of course it wasn’t made for me. I bargained for it. One of my first big deals actually. It was originally owned by someone you might know, went by the name of David, rather handy with a sling.”

“Fantastic.” Dean said slightly louder than necessary. Sam raised an eyebrow in his direction. “Well if you’re such an expert how do I stop all this.” Dean waved at his head at the room in general.

“Well to tell you that, I’d need to know when you’d found it.” Crowley sneared.

“Two days ago, afternoon.”

Crowley pursed his lips, then muttered something under his breath and made a face like he was about to sneeze. The song switched to Sweet Home Alabama and both Dean and Crowley winced.

“Well, given that most people go mad about twelve hours in, You’re actually doing fairly well. If you think you can stand it you could try a lunar cleansing ritual. Of course the celtic variation is the only one that would really do you any good and that has to be performed on the new moon. New moon isn’t in the next few days by any chance?”

Sam and Dean looked at each other both mentally counting the days. “Week and a half.” Kevin said from the doorway.

“Ah well then, you really only have two options.”

“Get on with it.” 

“Make a wager with me.” Crowley grinned. “If I play better then you, it will recognise me as it’s new owner.”

Sam got that quizzical look, the one he always got when he started putting pieces together. “Won’t it just curse you then?”

“Concerned for my welfare Moose?”

“Yeah, right and the second option?” Dean already had his arms crossed so he hunched his shoulders a bit more.

“Remove your eardrums.”

The brother’s exchanged a look.

“Can you believe this crap?”

“I know.” Sam rolled a shoulder. “Demons lie and he has no proof, and I’m fairly sure David didn’t use a violin in the stories, but Dean; you’re the one who said he could hear your music.” 

“I am right here.” the demon pointed out. They ignored him. Sam opened his mouth just as the song changed to Boulevard of Broken Dreams. 

Dean heald up a hand. “I don’t think I’ve got much time. This thing’s getting stronger.”

They exchanged another look, they both knew all the arguments and could have argued either side. 

Dean nodded, “Where’s the case.”

“Here.” Kevin heald it up.

Dean’s eyes were immediately drawn to the case again. He yanked them away back to Crowley. “So how’s this work then?”

The demon lifted one eyebrow then rattled the chains on his wrists. “Can’t play if can’t stand or move.”

Dean clenched his jaw, but nodded when Sam glanced at him. Sam pulled the table away and slowly went over the manacles. Dean kept watch with one hand next to his gun. When Sam was done Crowley was left standing in the middle of the devil’s trap set into the floor. He straightened the cuffs of his shirt, straightened his collar and smiled. 

“To business then. Has to be a fair wager, so you want information, I’ll put that up against the violin.”

“No, it’s ours.” Dean hated how childish he sounded but the idea of handing the fiddle over just felt wrong.

“Well, you have to wager something and I don’t think you want to offer up my freedom.”

“Fine, the violin against your information.” Sam caught Dean’s shoulder when he moved to protest. “It’s not like he could take it anywhere.”

“Fantastic.” Crowley clapped his hands together, his eyes falling to the case Kevin still held. “Would you like to lead off or shell I?” 

Kevin took a single step to put the case on the table Sam had shoved against the wall. He opened the case without touching the violin, looked at Dean, then moved back to lean against the doorframe. Dean took a step, letting his hand hover over the instrument. 

“Exactly how’s this supposed to work?”

Crowley sighed as if put upon and when he spoke it was slowly as if they wouldn’t understand if he used words that were more than two syllables. “You play. When you fail to create anything resembling music the violin will reject you as a candidate for Heaven's chorus or whatever it is the angel’s scribbled on there. It will spend the next twenty four hours slowly draining the life out of you, unless of course someone else picks it up and plays properly. That would be me.”

Dean wanted to come up with some kind of snide comment but the music switched to Hey there Delilah and he decided he’d had enough.

The moment he picked up the violin, the music in his head faded to be replaced with a kind of expectant silence, like the moment before an orchestra launched into full swing. He picked up the bow, looking at it as he balanced it between his fingers.

Dean had no idea what to do. He couldn’t even remember holding a violin before he’d picked up this one. If it had been a guitar that would have been something different. His skill wasn’t anything to boast about but there had been a few years when he’d been younger and Sammy’d been off at college that he’d earned as much from playing as he did from hustling. He picked at the strings, making sure they were still in tune, then thought what the hell and put the bow back in the case. If he was going to suck he was at least going to suck less by playing a song he knew, even if it was a terribly bastardised version.

He held the instrument in front of him, set his fingers to the first cord and launched into Hey Jude. He hadn’t practiced in a while and the lack of frets was seriously throwing him off.  After a second the music seemed to swell, as if the instrument was trying to help him. The music rang off the walls. Dean let his eyes fall half lidded and if he let himself drift it was almost like he wasn’t the only one playing. Echoes of harmonies from no one filled the dark room.  

Kevin stood up straighter, looking around the room as if he could see who else was playing if he squinted. Sam looked at Dean in surprise and Dean smirked, letting his voice rise as the song came to a high point. It was without a doubt the best performance he’d ever given and the thrill of it ran through his blood like molten metal. 

He let the last cords fade and looked down at the instrument. It hadn’t been a perfect song, he’d stumbled over the strings a few times just because he wasn’t familiar with the instrument. He could do better, he knew that much. The next time he played it would be better. He’d try it with the bow and once he got the hang of it, maybe he’d try other songs as well…

Sam grabbed his wrist and Dean realized he’d put his fingers to the strings again. 

“I can do better.” Dean said. It was like a mantra, circling in his head.

“It’s got it’s claws in him now.” Crowley held out his hand and Sam guided Dean’s hand to the edge of the devil’s trap. The demon didn’t hesitate to take the violin. He held out his other hand for the bow and when that was given to him as well, he tucked it into his chin and started on a basic set of scales.

“You know that wasn’t nearly as dismal as I’d thought. Clearly not your instrument but at least you know more than two cords to string together. Now let me show you how a real musician plays.”

In one long note Crowley switched from the standard set of scales to a classical piece. The music swelled again and Dean would have sworn there were at least four violins playing. It was different when he wasn’t the one playing. The music washed over him in a wave and in that moment Dean wasn’t sure that he couldn’t feel and taste and see it, because this was way too much to take in with only one sense. No wonder Sam had been staring when he played, if it had been half as stunning as this… and he didn’t even like classical.

Eventually Crowley let the bow drift off in a single ringing note. Dean had just enough time to realize that his mouth had gone dry and swallow before, the demon launched into another song. This one Dean recognised, The devil went down to Georgia. The music screeched in an evil hiss that worked it’s way across the strings in a harmony that was beautiful and painful all at once. 

Crowley finished the Devil’s solo and let the instrument rest. The room fell silent as the last notes faded and Dean realized that he could no longer hear the music. Sam blinked a few times, shook himself and seemed to pull himself together. 

Crowley was wearing a smug little smirk. “Pleasure doing business with you boys, but I think we can all agree on who won this round.” from the doorway Kevin scoffed. “Something funny?”

“You. You think you’re so great, but you’re using the magic to cover up your clumsy cord changes. And Vivaldi, that piece you played first? Everyone learns that one, Hell I learned it back in middle school. If you’re going to play something like that the least you could do is play it well.”

“Everyone’s a critic. You think you can do better?”

Kevin lifted his chin and there was a hard smile on his lips. “Yeah, I’ll take that bet.” 

He started to step forward but Sam held out an arm. “Kevin wait, If you lose.”

“I won’t. I started on the Violin in grade school, switched to Chello because multiple instruments would look better on a college application. I know what I’m doing.” He didn’t wait for Sam to make up his mind, just shrugged past him and held out a hand for the fiddle. Crowley passed it over. He looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be smug or disgruntled.

Unlike the demon he didn’t start right in, He checked the bow, the heft, the strings, and only when he was satisfied that the instrument was in perfect condition did he straighten his shoulders, settle into his stance and start to play. He gave Crowley a pointed look as the first notes of Johnny’s solo filled the room.

Again whatever magic was in the fiddle filled the hall with music, but where it had been complimentary to Crowley’s performance it was only a secondary mention when Kevin played. His notes rang out sure and true above the rest. The bow slid back and forth over the strings, finally drifting off in one long note before immediately picking up another tune. He played through House of the Rising Sun, and into Viva la Vida, the magic changing fluidly adapting to the songs played by seemingly changing the accompaniment even though no one else was playing. 

Kevin slid into a slower song next, something mournful with a celtic edge that Dean didn’t know the name of. It slowly increased in temp and the other instruments fell away leaving Kevin’s notes resonating. It was like the magic simply had nothing left to add.

When that song too fell away, the hunters were left gasping, rocking on their feet as if the music had been a physical force. Crowley looked like he couldn’t breath, his mouth all scrunched up and his eyes wide in shock. 

Kevin settled his fingers on the strings and gave Crowley another look before starting in on the same Vivaldi piece that the demon had played first. Kevin had been right. The two versions were subtly different and where Crowley had played by wrote, there was passion and depth in Kevin’s playing that brought so much more to the piece.

The song ended, and Crowley let his head fall forward, opening his hands in defeat. Kevin turned his back dismissing the demon offhand, to check over the instrument again, carefully putting it back in it’s case. He left the room in ringing silence. Dean let out a shaky breath, Sam nodded, and together they moved to rechain Crowley. 

The bunker remained silent for the rest of the day. Dean tried to put on his music, but after a few songs he turned it off again. Even talking sounded rough, and he wasn’t sure if it was his ears or just the comparison. Whatever effects the violin had been having on him had vanished as far as he could tell, and Kevin said it wasn’t doing anything to him, so everything seemed to be settled.

Sam found another hunt for them. They kept searching for Cas. And sometimes when the tablets were being particularly troublesome Kevin would settle into a corner of the den and let the music echo throughout the bunker. During those times, Dean would turn off his music and Sam would leave his door open, listening to whatever Kevin felt like playing. When that happened Sam made a point of smiling at the prophet and Dean tried to give the kid less of a hard time. During those times both brothers were reminded that while all the crazy in their lives was often bloody and dark, sometimes it could be beautiful as well, and that was worth holding on to.

**Author's Note:**

> Songs in order of appearance:
> 
> Dream On  
> stairway to heaven  
> All Along the Watchtower  
> Crossroads  
> Hotel California  
> Paint it Black  
> Piano Man  
> Sweet Home Alabama  
> Boulevard of Broken Dreams  
> Hey there Delilah  
> Hey Jude  
> vivaldi  
> the devil went down to Georgia   
> House of the Rising Sun,  
> Viva la Vida  
> Streets of Inwood  
> vivaldi


End file.
